Chapter Forty
Three men came running: a shopkeeper abandoning his leather stitching, an elderly man hurrying from his wife’s side and a young apprentice hoping for the glory of rescuing a damsel in distress. Tyballis did not need rescuing. She twisted, grabbed up Oliver’s fallen knife and waved it in his face. ‘Nasty little pimp,’ she hissed. ‘Think you can intimidate me? I’ve faced far bigger bastards than you, I can tell you, and have plenty of experience in looking after myself. Now – you move one step nearer and I’ll have this knife in your guts, and then I’ll tell the constable you ran onto it yourself. After all, it’s your knife.’
Oliver Ingwood trembled with anger. His groin throbbed and his eyes protruded in frustration. He reached, grabbing for her wrist, and managed to achieve exactly what Tyballis had threatened. He ran onto his own knife. He squealed and wrenched back. ‘Whore,’ he seethed. A small patch of blood oozed from his doublet below the belt. ‘Fucking Elizabeth got away, but I’ll have you in her place.’ And he once again grabbed her wrist. Forced to release the knife, she let it drop. But as Oliver bent to retrieve it, head down, she brought her knee up again, this time hard onto his nose. She heard the sharp crack on contact. Oliver howled. Blood poured from his face.
‘You really are the most inept pimp I ever met,’ said Tyballis without admitting she had never before met one.
By now they were surrounded. The continuing thunder dissuaded most, but at least eight had come over to watch. A woman reached over the apprentice and hit Oliver on the head with her parcel. Salted bacon, its strings flying as the package came undone, dealt a crushing blow. Oliver staggered, his nose still bleeding. ‘Gerra doctor,’ he snuffled.
‘Get a constable,’ shouted the woman.
Squeezing out from the centre of the squash, Tyballis looked for Casper. Then through the open door of the apothecary’s from which Throckmorton had earlier emerged, someone else was quietly leaving. Unwatched by the noisy bustle around Oliver Ingwood, a slim figure slipped away and walked quickly in the opposite direction. His back was towards her and Tyballis saw only his cape. But the cape was remarkably familiar.
Casper was puffing up behind. ‘Did the full circle,’ he explained, ‘and no bastard twitch nor a glimpse, there weren’t – nor yella legs nor yella hat. But if it’s him, that bugger as caused the death of our Davey, then I’ll have him. He dares come back after we helped the fucker out the country, then I’ll tear his head from his scrawny neck, I will. I’ll gouge out his eyes and feed ’em to the crabs. I’ll slice his dirty little cods from his legs and roast ’em for supper –’
‘I quite understand,’ interrupted Tyballis. ‘I sympathise, really I do. But where on earth did he go? And why on earth did he come back?’
The constable arrived as lightning struck through the thickening clouds like swords through silk, the thunder again vibrated and it began to pour. Tyballis, Casper and Ellen ran. Tyballis looked back just once then made straight for the apothecary’s.
The shop was tiny, a rich scent of spice and musk pervading. The thick window shutters had been lowered outwards and supported on portable legs, creating a counter that protruded into the street outside. But no one stood at the counter. A doorway at the back was firmly closed, and the sounds of raised voices from beyond were muffled only by the noise of the rain. Tyballis called, ‘Service,’ and after a few moments, a nose peeped out. Tyballis said, ‘Is the shop open? I need advice – on wounds.’
The apothecary emerged, leaving the door to the back room slightly ajar. ‘I have at least twenty ointments of all kinds, for wounds, for burns, for grazes and for calluses, corns, haemorrhoids, ulcers and pimples. But advice I can supply only by examining the patient, and there’s no time for that today, mistress. I’m a busy man.’
‘Then tell me something else,’ said Tyballis quietly. ‘A young gentleman has recently left your shop, wearing a red oiled cape. Do you know his name, sir?’
The apothecary sniffed and narrowed his eyes. ‘Chasing your husband, are you? Well, I’ll not give information on what’s not my business, and besides, no customer shares his identity on such short acquaintance.’
‘Then the customer before that,’ said Tyballis. ‘He was short and thin, dressed as a fine lord in silks and furs, and had hair as red as fire. Can you tell me his business, sir, and what he bought, if anything?’
‘Certainly not.’ The apothecary looked cross. ‘I consider discretion an essential part of my work, and would never discuss one client with another. Indeed, madam, if you’ve no other business here than to poke and pry, I must ask you to leave.’
‘You’re most uncivil sir,’ Tyballis said, and turned on her heel. But the little of the conversation she heard from the back room as she walked out, satisfied her. Out again in the rain, she pulled up her furred hood and nodded to her companions. Neither owned cloak nor hood; Casper had no more than a felt cap and Ellen had nothing at all.
‘Bloody wet,’ Ellen pointed out. ‘And a bloody long walk home.’
‘Then we’d better get going,’ said Tyballis.
With great flames blazing, reflections dancing up the chimney and three huge logs spitting on the hearth, Andrew Cobham sat by the hearth. Tyballis had drawn up the cushioned settle, and with space for two to sit side-by-side, she was snuggled next to him, her head on his shoulder and his arm tight around her.
He was thoughtful. ‘You know the man well enough, my love. You would not mistake him for another.’
‘But Drew, how could he have got off a ship sailing east with a good wind in her sails? Surely he couldn’t have jumped overboard? And why would he? It was him wanted to run away from England. He wouldn’t risk drowning, just to come back and face death at home.’
‘I imagine he did no such thing,’ said Andrew. ‘Either the ship suffered some accident and pulled in again to port. Or perhaps our dear friend was forcibly assisted to depart the ship before it sailed.’
Tyballis shook her head. ‘Ralph would have seen.’
‘Remember, Davey and Ralph were attacked by men who expected them and were waiting. But it was Throckmorton they wanted. And clearly there were others keeping watch by their horses – who could also have rowed over under cover of dark while everyone’s attention was on the fight onshore. They’d have accosted the fool on deck before the ship got underway. Ralph was badly wounded and more concerned for Davey. Who would have noticed a rowing boat slipping back to the bank further upriver?’
‘But Drew, they would have killed him at once. Wasn’t that what he expected, and why he had to leave the country? But he’s very much alive. Indeed, he was looking quite busy and prosperous.’
‘A puzzle, my love. But one I intend solving. Certainly I doubt Throckmorton chose to leave the ship voluntarily. I imagine he made a bargain to save his skin. I have yet to find out what that bargain is.’
‘And then going to an apothecary? Is it arsenic again, do you think?’
‘Poison is common enough. Monkshood, dwayberry, hemlock, henbane, yew, antimony, thorn apples, cherry seeds, foxglove, laurel water, rhubarb leaves, death cap fungus …’
Tyballis sat up in a hurry. ‘Oh, please don’t,’ she said. ‘What a lot you know about poisons – and such a horrid thought. It’s bad enough losing Davey without all this talk of hideous deaths. I went to the churchyard yesterday with Felicia. It looked so sad, that little churned plot all alone in the rain.’
Andrew’s fingers were gentle in her hair, smoothing behind her ears. ‘Hush, my love. It’s the living who concern me now. Those poisons are too well known to the medics, so home brews are little use to assassins. But arsenic is manufactured in Italy, and its effects are not commonly recognised. Being almost entirely tasteless, it is easily introduced into food, and since it is often used in tiny quantities for medicinal purposes, the poisoner can often disguise his intentions. It’s also the most deadly. Throckmorton, having long ago learned of the darker market for such a substance, has often had large quantities smuggled into the country direct from Venice, bypassing the doctors’ trade. But you are right, and we’ll talk of other business. Indeed, I’ve sweeter things on my mind.’